Category Archives: let’s just talk from our hearts

What I want from men.

Jan

2013

I asked my friend Tony, “Hey Tony. I know this is a big question, but what do guys really want? I know every man is different. But think broadly. What do guys want from a woman? For her to do or not do? You know?”

He said, “It really depends on the guy. And unfortunately, I’m so far off from most guys that I don’t know how well I can answer that.” And then, he asked me, “What do you want out of a boy? For him to do and not do?”

Here’s what I want.

“I want a boy to be honest, but there’s a difference from being honest and being blunt. To be honest is having your actions align with your words.

I like when boys don’t play games. By which I mean this: If you say something, you should mean it. Don’t say something and then do something else. Don’t act one way and then another. That’s a game to me.

I want men to be unafraid of doing new things or of looking silly.

I want men to understand that for you, it’s just a text, but for most women (NOT ALL, MOST, NOT ALL, MOST, UNDERSTAND?) we dissect texts and take them apart and over-interpret them. Similarly, we worry when you don’t text at all. We think, “What have I done wrong?” I guess my point is that, keep in mind that communcation via any medium is important.

I want men to know that we’re way less complicated than you think we are. We just want to know that we’re valued and that we mean something to you. We’re not asking you to marry us, or commit to us immediately, or try to trap you into a relationship. That’s not what I’m saying. We just want to know that you like us. That you recognize we’re people with feelings like yours. It’s always nice to feel appreciated. We know we can go a little overboard with reading into things and seeing signs that aren’t there. But we do it because we feel like you’re not giving us enough. Maybe that’s because men aren’t trained to show emotion. But we like a little emotion.

I want men to know that we hate games too. We really do!!! We don’t want to have to play them. But when we text you and you don’t text back, we suddenly think, oh, now I have to do the whole, let me just disappear thing so he’ll want me again. It doesn’t even matter that it isn’t logical, and in most cases, isn’t even correct (people are busy! people don’t think texting is as important as you do! And so on!) I think that in the same way men are trained not to show emotion, women are trained to try to trap a man. I don’t feel this way. None of my friends do. This is of an older generation. But we’re still faced with books like, “Why Men Love Bitches” and “He’s Just Not That Into You” and suddenly we panic and think, “Well wait, why ISN’T he into me? HOW DO I CHANGE IT??” That’s why there’s an entire industry based on relationship books.

It all comes down to one thing, and it’s one thing that works for both men and women: be kind, be honest, and don’t be a dick.”

(And be hot and good in bed. If not hot, then at least good.)

Men: what do you want from women?

Follow me on Twitter | Facebook

Flaking out on plans.

Dec

2012

We’ve all done it. We’ve all flaked out on someone. And we have our reasons, and some of them are good, and some of them are fake because we don’t actually want to say, “I have diabolical diarrhea.” But at a certain point, we all hit our limits. We say, “I get it, I’m never inviting you to anything again.” So how do we determine when that limit is?

I have some ideas:

1. They cancel, but with plenty of notice, and they have a good reason: they’re sick, or have a family thing. No problem.

2. They cancel, last minute, but it’s because they got into some sort of urgent situation or emergency. No problem.

3. They cancel, because they forgot they had other plans. Uh, okay.

4. They cancel in the sense that they don’t even really let you know until and hour or less before, or they don’t respond until you text something like, “Hey, are you coming?” Dude, not cool.

5. They do all of the above repeatedly. Oh come on, seriously?

6. They say yes to all invitations, sometimes add something like, “I’m so excited!” or “I wouldn’t miss this” but then and do the above repeatedly. STOP SAYING YES TO THINGS, YOU SODDING JERK.

Even more annoying is when they never tell you if they’re coming or not. It’s totally easy, here are your options: yes or no. If you say maybe, I don’t really know what to do with that, unless you explain something like, I have something before and I don’t know when it will be over. It’s not that I’m trying to dictate your plans or be an asshole about the whole thing, I just want to know how much food or drink I should provide or when I should get ready, or if I need to put in a plus one.

You all know who you are. And I know some of you think I’m a flake. But please know that if I don’t go to something, it’s because I am genuinely not feeling well, because I am sick all the time, like a small child in a Dickens novel, or I really do have plans.

Here’s an exception: if that person let’s you know well in advance that they can’t come and is sincerely sorry and is totally honest about their reasons, I wouldn’t give up on them. Who knows the kind of guff they’re dealing with or going through? I once didn’t go to a party because my dress didn’t fit. And neither did the 5 other ones I tried on. True story. Rather than say something like, “Cough cough, I’m sick” I told the truth, as stupid as that truth was, because that’s what you do for your friends.

What do you think?

Follow me on Twitter | Facebook

Singledom and the holidays.

Nov

2012

Full disclosure: this post is sponsored by AZO. Keep it real, ladies.

The holiday express is choo chooing down the track and you either have to hop on or jump in front of it. Hopefully, you jump on it. If you jumped in front of it, you can’t read this anymore. Because you’re dead. Because this is a very literal metaphor. So let’s get you on that train. Here’s the tricky part: are you traveling alone, or with a partner, on the holiday express?

The holidays have a way of making single people feel like they need to be part of a couple. Not even in a deep, serious way; sometimes in a more superficial way, because you need a really hot date to bring to that bangin’ New Year’s Eve party you’ve already decided to go to. I shall not be untruthful: I always want, need, and like to have a date on New Year’s Eve. I don’t know why this is. Maybe I feel like it’s the real people version of The Oscars. Everyone is all dressed up for a big evening ahead, and you know there’s going to be photos taken and making out to be had. Admittedly, I feel “cuffed” to this idea, of needing a date. And they’re emotional handcuffs that I’m putting on myself. They’re cute handcuffs though. The handcuffs are the guy, by the way. In case you didn’t figure that out. Just in case.

But please understand this: I’m not going to scour my Facebook friends list, cell phone contacts, or OKCupid for potential dates. I actually do have limits. If that’s something you do, that’s your thing, go do it. But I’m not at the level where I’m going to call some dude I had sex with once three years ago, breathless, saying, “HI WOULD YOU LIKE TO GO TO A NEW YEAR’S PARTY WITH ME, IT’S GOING TO BE FUN, I’M BREEZY!” And they’ll say, “Who is this?” And I’ll laugh nervously and say, “OH MY GOD, YOU GUYS, IT’S ALMIE!” And they’ll say, “Almie…it’s November 30th.” And I’ll say, “WELL YOU KNOW HOW QUICKLY SCHEDULES FILL UP AROUND THE HOLIDAYS.” And they’ll say, “Did you just pronounce it ‘shed-u-elles?’ And why are you shouting?” And I’ll say, “I have the wrong number, I was trying to reach Tyler.” And they’ll say, “This is Tyler.” And I’ll say, “Oh, I meant Ryan, bye.” (BTW, Tyler, this is in no way referring to you, I’m referring to The Tyler Technique. Even though, coincidentally, we did spend New Year’s together one year. And your name is Tyler. But it’s not you. Swear. I think you’re swell.)

As far as needing to have a date: it doesn’t matter. If you focus on the parts of the holidays that matter, like giving and love and gingerbread lattes or whatever, you’ll be just fine. I know this. We all know this. We just can’t forget it.

Does anyone else have these, “Oh no, it’s the holidays and I’m single” feelings? If you do, how do get over it?

Ladies, read the rest more info on AZO. Or guys too, whatever, it’s just not going to apply to you, and may cause confusion and fear.

Continue reading →

Follow me on Twitter | Facebook

I guess we’re friends?

Nov

2012

On TV there’s always a group of friends who spontaneously meet up, or someone will call Tyler, and they’ll say, “Tyler, meet me at [whatever bar or coffee shop here]” and they hang up and don’t even give a time, and Tyler always shows up. And let’s not forget the ole drop-by. This happens a lot on “Beverly Hills, 90210” (the original). EVERYONE drops by Dylan’s house. I understand why TV writers do this. To show characters calling each other, or texting each other, is a lot less interesting than having them speak in person. But this trope gave me false hopes about what being an “adult” would be like. And by “adult,” I mean any cool, awesome chick from 18 – 30. From Clarissa Darling to Carrie Bradshaw. I thought that once I turned that magical adult age, I would have a close group of friends who would always be available to meet at “our” place or drop by unexpectedly.

I don’t think this is a real thing.

If you and people you know live in NYC (like the village or somewhere stupid in Brooklyn) or Los Angeles (in somewhere like Silverlake or Los Feliz or maybe even Venice) you can experience the magic TV moments of running into your friends at a nearby restaurant or other local joint. That’s why I like where I live now, even though I use to ruthlessly make fun of it all the time. I like being able to walk everywhere. I used to live in Manhattan and that was one of my favorite things, ever. To just get out of your studio apartment and walk. And see people. And things. And get hammered and take a taxi back or walk. Or if you’re really desperate, the subway. Yes, I can be quite an elitist jerk, don’t even bother pointing that out. I think that jeans and beer are for poor people. And if that shocks or upsets you, then I’m sorry. I’m like Patrick Bateman, but a woman, and with a lot less money and murders.

I think I have lots of friends. Maybe? It’s hard to tell. What’s a friend? Someone who goes to your bday party? Someone you don’t feel awkward having a one on one conversation with? Someone you know really well? I don’t really feel like I have a lot of close friends. But I have friends I can talk to. I wish I had a closely knit group, like the ones in “How I Met Your Mother” and “Friends.” But perhaps those don’t exist. At least not after college. But just once, I’d like to send out a mass text with, “MEET AT COOLBARWELIKEHERE at 9!” and everyone shows up, or at the very least, doesn’t ignore my text.

For more on friendship, read this old post: Friends.

Follow me on Twitter | Facebook

Rules for hot people.

Nov

2012

I demand a new law for attractive people: if you are attractive, and you are alone, and someone comes up to you and starts talking to you, and it gets past the polite conversation stage, it is your obligation to stop and say, in a truly friendly manner, “I have a boyfriend/girlfriend.” I just think that this makes sense.

Yes, it is also annoying to speak to someone at a bar or party or zoo to have them say, 45 seconds into the conversation, “I HAVE A GIRLFRIEND.” But it’s even worse to talk to them for 45 minutes without knowing. 45 minutes is an exagerration. 5 minutes. 5 minutes is insane. Think about how long 5 minutes is. That gives you enough time to listen to all of “Call Me Maybe” and then blow a monkey. If you’re into that. I don’t give a fuck. Just tell me that you and the monkey are involved before it gets anywhere.

You may think this is directed towards you, and in all honesty, you are the inspiration for this, but this post has been a long time coming. I would much rather know, straightaway, if you are not single, rather than find out later and have fears even worse than dying alone: going to a party alone, the kind of party where you’re encouraged to bring a date and YOU’D RATHER DIE, YOU SAD MISERABLE SACK OF NOTHING NOTHING NOTHING NOTHING nice hair though.

Follow me on Twitter | Facebook

Who’s really reading this blog?

Oct

2012

I write about my dating life. Sometimes you may even wonder, “Is this about me?” And I’ve been starting to wonder, “Are any of these guys I’ve written about actually reading this?”

So, indulge me. If we’ve ever:

— Been in a relationship

— Dated

— Been on a date

— Had sex

— Had any sort of sexual contact

— Made out

— Kissed

— Flirted

I want you to comment and let me know that you’re reading this. You don’t have to use your name. You can be anonymous. I would prefer if you used some sort of nickname that hints to me who you are. But do whatever you want.

This is an experiment that could go really well, or really poorly. Go for it.

Follow me on Twitter | Facebook

D’oh-mesticated.

Sep

2012

Dear comrades, it’s me, Uncle Almie, live in my apartment, and it looks like the Lion King spooky graveyard in here with just a touch of Hoarders. I fully admit that I completely suck at living alone, in the sense that I could be neater, I could be cleaner, I could be a lot more better to do good for me adult. I’m capable of being organized for other people. But for myself, I’m a mess. Let me break it down for you:

— Dishes. In the sink. On the counter. Everywhere. This is why I hate to cook. Because then I have to clean everything. I’m sure this is why lots of people hate to cook. I will let this shit sit for days. Then finally, I rationalize, “Look, you didn’t exercise today, and washing dishes burns calories, so just do it.” And yes, I have calculated how many calories I burn washing dishes. (It’s 53 calories for 26 minutes.)

— Laundry. At this point, I am giving away clothes because I can’t deal with having to put them in places and having to keep washing them. Oh, such problems, I know. I would rather throw everything away and just start over with 3 tee shirts, 5 dresses, and 1 pair of pants. I’m selling stuff. Mostly because I am stone cold broke, like a delicious milkshake, but the benefit is that it’s less clothes for me to wash.

— The fucking bathtub I hate you bathtub so much I can’t even, why don’t you drain, I’ve done everything for you, and why do you get dirty so quickly, why are you doing this to me, just drain, why won’t you just drain???

Really though the biggest issue is feeding myself. Some nights I completely surrender to Eat24, my favorite website in the world, and order in food. And I love them because we both hate having to wear pants. They make it their mission to keep you from having to put on pants in order to eat. I respect the hell out of that. My favorite thing to do is to eat a lot and then lie down. And they get that. Yes, I am a fangirl for a food delivery website. And I have no shame.

In fact, this post is brought to you by Eat24 and because we are all up in each others’ delicious love, they offering all Apocalypstick readers a coupon for a free appetizer or $5.00 off whatever you want! Just enter the code lypstick at checkout. For more info on coupons, click here. *some strings attached. The code is one use per account and expires on 9/30 at midnight.

I’m cooking a lot more than I used to, but sometimes it’s nice to just go home, order in, and watch the original Law & Order series, back when Rob Lowe and Vanilla Ice were just it. Do you guys cook more or order out/eat out more?

Follow me on Twitter | Facebook

BUY MY BOOK! Only $2.99. I'll love you forever.